


Dressing in the Dark

by myrtlebroadbelt



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlebroadbelt/pseuds/myrtlebroadbelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dim light and tired eyes lead to a bit of a mix-up for Bungo and Belladonna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressing in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr, written in response to the prompt "Finding the other wearing their clothes."

Bungo squints one eye open in the dim light before the sun has fully risen. He would like nothing better than to sink deeper beneath the covers and sleep just one hour more, but he knows it won’t be long before Bilbo is awake and demanding breakfast. He can hear Belladonna’s heavy breathing beside him, which means there’s little hope in handing the duty off to her, at least not that his conscience could permit.

With a stretch of his arms and a yawn so wide it brings tears to his eyes, Bungo steps clumsily out of bed and pads to the wardrobe. The shortage of light in the room, coupled with the bleariness of his vision, means he must rely on touch to find his dressing gown. He feels about for a moment before reaching a familiar sleeve, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t cause an avalanche of clothing as he pulls it out.

Bungo shrugs the gown on over his nightshirt and ties the belt securely at his waist. He registers vaguely, after stepping out of the bedroom, that the shoulders feel a bit narrow, and the front doesn’t seem to cover him as fully as it usually does.

 _Too many mince pies_ , he thinks to himself as he enters the kitchen and lights a fire under the kettle.

He uses the time it takes for the water to boil as an opportunity to rest his eyes at the kitchen table. With his elbows propped up and his head in his hands, he notes that his wrists feel rather more exposed than he’s used to.

 _Perhaps it shrank in the washing_ , he hypothesizes, incapable as he is of thinking clearly at this early hour.

As he’s pouring the water into a teapot he hears Belladonna’s sleepy groan in the doorway.

“Good morning,” he greets, voice cracking from lack of use.

Belladonna takes a seat at the table and replies with a sound that only vaguely resembles the same message.

“What shall it be for breakfast?” Bungo wonders, finally glancing up from his pouring and very nearly drenching the doilies with hot water. “What on earth…”

Either he’s even more delirious this morning than he first thought, or he and Belladonna are wearing exactly the same dressing gown. Which is of course impossible, because he only has one dressing gown, and Belladonna already has one of her own, and…

Oh.

Bungo looks down at himself for the first time this morning to discover a field of tiny pink rosebuds staring back at him. That would certainly explain a few things.

“What is it?” Belladonna mumbles, looking up. She immediately cries out in horror at what she sees, but just as quickly calms down. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes, a hand on her chest. “I thought I was looking in a mirror.”

“I’m going to choose not to be insulted by that,” Bungo remarks.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Belladonna chuckles. She appraises him for a moment, raising one eyebrow. “Come to think of it, it rather suits you.”

“Very funny.”

“No, truly. Pink is your color.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m buying waistcoats,” he says. “Now then, let’s put things back to normal.”

He starts untying the belt on his—or rather, Belladonna’s—dressing gown, but he pauses when he notices that Belladonna is not doing the same on her own—or rather, _his_ own.

“Belladonna…” he begins warningly.

She wraps the patchwork garment, whose sleeves are just slightly too long and whose shoulder seams sag well below where they should be, more tightly around herself. “It’s so comfortable,” she says.

“I know it is,” Bungo agrees. “That’s why I want it back.”

Belladonna considers this momentarily, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

They argue back and forth about it for as long as it takes the tea to finish steeping, and in the end Bungo decides that if Belladonna won’t remove his dressing gown, he won’t remove hers. On principle. What principle, specifically, he isn’t quite sure, but some principle. He’ll think of it later.

However, when Bilbo enters the kitchen fifteen minutes later and tugs on his hem pleading, “Mama, breakfast,” he immediately tosses it over the back of a chair.


End file.
